Friday, May 18, 2012

Million Dollar Listing

A wise old friend told me that prior to beginning my apartment
search I should preemptively apologize to my boyfriend for any future
altercations because the process was going to bring out the worst in both of
us. Said friend tends to be a bit of a curmudgeon so I disregarded his advice; it
turns out he wasn’t as crazy as I thought.

After viewing 17 apartments together – not including ones
that we vetted on our own – working with half a dozen realtors, sending nearly
100 e-mails, fielding endless phone calls and re-budgeting our New York
existence down to a nub at least 50 times, we finally signed a lease this week.

In addition to the challenges that are just part of doing
real estate business in New York City (read The Apartment Games), we had a philosophical
hurdle from the start. My boyfriend, who shall be granted the pseudonym
Einstein, was used to living within an arms length of every convenience
possible – grocery stores with real cheese (not like the government cheese in
my neighborhood), multiple entertainment venues, doormen, you know…things worthy
of the hashtag #whitepeoplestuff. In
exchange Einstein was willing to give up solitude, fresh air and a little
sanity. His pick: Midtown.

I, on the other hand, will never shake my Midwestern roots
and actually believe that a “spacious one bedroom” does not exist in New York
City and that vomit-free sidewalks the day after St. Patrick’s Day are a right,
not a privilege (as opposed to spandex which is a privilege and not a right). I
also tend to go “Jet Blue” when surrounded by too many people. My pick: Not
Midtown. What to do?

I had heard of this concept called “compromise” once, but
having lived on my own for such a long time I couldn’t tell you much about it. I
had already crafted a fantastical story in my mind about how living on the brownstone-lined
streets near Lincoln Center would position us to bump into someone like Tina
Fey who would in turn invite us to her apartment for a quick drink, become enthralled
at our wit, style and grace and earn us a permanent place on her Polish doorman’s
“it’s-ok-to-let-them-in-without-buzzing” list.

It was also a dream, seemingly no less fantastical after
trudging through myriad failed relationships, to meet someone like Einstein who
would, while being incredibly intelligent and handsome, be able to spin out a
politically incorrect joke at just the wrong moment and offend everyone in the
room - except me. He would also have to possess the patience of a saint to want
to live with me at any juncture, survive a few of my occasional hag-storms
(both public and private) and tolerate going to the opera, a lot…and not fall
asleep…usually.

Looking for an apartment together brought up a lot of touchy
topics that we hadn’t discussed before: money, future career plans, past relationships,
money, negotiation styles, money. It gently reminded me to take the long view
of what’s truly important, which is always a good lesson, and actually listen
to someone else’s position instead of trying to hard sell my own.

A few hours after signing the lease I realized that while
Tina Fey might have to come downtown a few stops on the subway to become our
best friend (which is still going to happen, mind you), any home where I get tostart a life with Einstein is the right one
for me. Vomit be damned.